


Hall of Cranes

by Shirakaba (yesterdaychild)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Palace drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-12-29 23:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterdaychild/pseuds/Shirakaba
Summary: Wufei, Crown Prince of the Chang'seo Dynasty, must find a consort before his ascension. His chamberlain Barton is anxious that he should marry to secure his throne and the love of his people. But the only woman Wufei likes enough isn't quite what she seems to be. Meanwhile, Duo is in completely over his head in this palace intrigue.





	1. And twirl and dance and sing they did

Wufei rose, and as his blankets rustled, his door slid open. A young man padded in quietly and set a bowl on the low bedside table, then stood in the corner, waiting. 

Like every other day that had come before, Wufei ignored him. He swung his legs out of bed and leaned over the bowl, splashing his face with water before cleaning his teeth. The servant darted forward with a towel as Wufei put his hand out for it, and followed quickly behind as Wufei went to the dressing room.

Casting an eye over his collection, he pointed at the yellow, silk robe he had commissioned during the Tashkar campaign. The ex-country - now state - was renown for its ochre dye, which was so pure and striking in shade that he had commanded the robe made even before he had won. Even if he had left Tashkar without the territory - and he wouldn't have, at any rate - the robe would have been consolation.

Wufei began undressing as the servant unfolded the robe and began getting it ready for its wearer. Wufei made short work of the sash, and let his sleepwear fall to the floor, holding his arms out for his day clothes. They worked in silence - or rather, the servant worked and Wufei was robed.

When he was ready, Wufei exited to his dining room, where breakfast was waiting. And so was Trowa Barton, his personal courtier. They had played together as children, and so he was the closest thing Wufei could consider as a friend. Not close enough to drop the formalities, but at least close enough to know to stand quietly by until Wufei put his chopsticks down. The Chang hated to speak before they had had something to eat.

"What's on the agenda today, Barton?" Wufei asked, wiping his lips with a napkin.

"Crown Prince," Barton said, moving to stand before Wufei's table as maids quickly cleared it. "You will be ascending the throne in two months. Protocol suggests you begin choosing your consort."

To Barton's surprise, Wufei of the Chang'seo dynasty sighed deeply.

"What a chore," he muttered, "To be husbanded to a woman."

Barton carefully kept his eyebrows still; though he needn't have worried, as his hair covered half his face.

"Continuation of the dynasty is a core duty of the king," Barton said neutrally.

"Dress it up with all the custom you like,” Wufei bit out, “But sounds very much just like the rest of the species’ need to procreate.”

If Wufei weren’t a prince, Barton would have described it as ‘complaining’. But he was, and Barton liked being his courtier, so he kept quiet.

“Well, when do we begin?” Wufei asked. 

They were alone in the room, the maids having cleared the table and wiped it down for the next meal. It doubled as a meeting room and entertaining room, since conversations and strategy flowed best with food and drink. It was also large enough to host - low tables could be brought in readily – but also cozy enough that Wufei didn’t feel alone when he dined by himself.

“Right now,” Barton said. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see them in your private study.”

Wufei looked up at his courtier, and gave Barton a brief flicker of a smile. He really did know him best.

“Alright, alright,” Wufei said, and again Barton didn’t want to call that whine unprincely. “And how many of them do I have to see?”

Barton smiled into his hair. “Just five hundred.”

The groan this time was decidedly unbefitting of the Crown.

*

Wufei could think of better ways to spend his time. Calligraphy, perhaps, or studying the classics. Even hunting would be better than this boredom. As heir apparent, he was entitled to spend as much time as he wanted with each candidate, but he ordered Barton to give each girl no longer than five minutes. Barton kept time with military precision, rapping the door sharply before taking away each twirling, singing, simpering girl.

And twirl and dance and sing they did, in an effort to be Queen Consort. Wufei lost count of how many times he had heard “A Blossom Falls in Spring”, a folk song popular in the South that was charming only the first three times he heard it. He had tried to start a conversation with some, but most of the girls were either too sheltered or too brogue for him to be able to relate. At the end of the first day, Wufei asked Barton where these girls had come from.

“All across the country,” Barton said. “We canvassed each town and village for the most beautiful girls for you.”

That explained the wide range of accents and experiences, Wufei thought to himself. He was starting to think he had to maybe marry one of his cousins in order to just have someone he could talk to. That would certainly keep the lineage pure, he mused, and was startled that he was really considering it.

By the third day, Wufei had begun playing weiqi with himself. Scores of girls came and were taken away, unable to divert his attention from the gripping game he was having with his left hand. He barely looked up even when sipping tea, the clay cup leaving rings on the hardwood table, and simply cleared the board when he won. If he wouldn’t pay attention to a woman before they were married, he reasoned, he was certainly not going to give her the time of day when she was his wife. So he continued on entertaining himself for hours and tuning the badly-tuned zithers out.

Until he was contemplating the breath-count of a tiny colony of black pieces, and a black-sleeved hand reached out to place a white piece on the board. 

A sunbeam fell directly across the piece, he noticed. Wufei looked up. She was dressed entirely in black, but he could see from her sleeves that her robes were gauzy, and the thin material relieved the dark weight of the dress. She had chestnut hair, half of which were plaited in small chains across her head. She smiled something closer to a smirk, and her eyes sparkled and seemed almost purple in this light

Wufei said nothing as he looked back down at the board, but placed a black piece on it instead. His heart started beating faster in anticipation of his opponent’s moves, and sat up from his casual slouch to as he began reading her strategy on the board.

And when Barton entered at the five-minute mark, Wufei looked up and said, “Come back later.” Then, Wufei looked up at the girl as if only just realising she had been standing the whole time, and said, "Sit."

Barton only lifted an (already obscured) eyebrow after sliding the door close again. A small smile played around his lips, which he smoothed out before he told the attendants to send the rest of the girls back to their quarters for the day. 

Weiqi was not a one-hour game.

*

Wufei and the girl played in silence, and it seemed to the prince that it was the first few hours of silence since Barton had started this entire circus of Consort-ing. She was only reasonably good as a player, but she didn’t go down without a fight, and she occasionally surprised him. Wufei respected that in an opponent, even if they were a weaker one.

It was clear from the board that Wufei had won, but he wasn’t even looking at it anymore. 

“What’s your name?” he asked the girl.

“My name is – Dill’a,” she said, hesitating. Her voice was gravelly and soft.

“Thank you for the game, Dill’a,” Wufei said formally, then waved her away. “You may go.”

She exited the room without protest, and Barton entered.

“I liked this one,” Wufei said to him. “Bring her back tomorrow.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Barton said, and bowed.


	2. "What is this, an interview?"

Wufei awoke the next morning, washed, got dressed, and went to breakfast per usual. He ate his breakfast – same plain toast and tea – with his usual stoicism. Nobody would have been able to tell that he was in a different mood than yesterday, except that he lingered in his dressing room a little longer before selecting his attire.

After breakfast, he sat through ten more girls singing and dancing before him, before Dill’a finally re-entered. As he’d hoped, she was wearing the same black dress she’d worn the day before. He looked at her for a few brief moments, then gestured to the seat across from his table. 

“Sit,” he said. “Would you like some tea?”

Dill’a came forward and sat, arranging her skirts around her. “Yes, your Highness,” she said. She hesitated, before saying, “I see your weiqi board isn’t here today.”

“No,” Wufei said. “Unless you wish to play?”

Dill’a laughed, a surprisingly open sound.

“What is this, an interview?” she said, her eyes sparkling. “You’re being so formal.”

She only stopped laughing when she realised Wufei wasn’t laughing along. 

“Even if I am not to be your future husband, I’m still your future king,” Wufei said when she’d stopped. “How I conduct myself right now is of utmost importance. And,” he couldn’t help but add, “In many ways this _is_ an interview.”

Dill’a collected herself for a moment. “My gravest apologies, your Highness,” she murmured, bowing over her teacup. Was it just him, or did Wufei still spot a hint of a smile in her voice?

No matter. Wufei cleared his throat. “What do you wish to do, Dill’a?” he asked. “Yesterday I made you play games with me. Today you can choose.”

For the first time since they had met, Dill’a seemed uncertain. “I’m not so sure where I’m permitted to go in the palace,” she said. “We never leave our quarters…”

“You’re with _me_ ,” Wufei said imperiously, and a little impatiently. “Do you think anyone will dare question who I’m with?”

Dill’a smiled, and her dimples showed.

“Do you have horses?”

*

Of course Wufei had horses. The Chu kingdom could not have expanded its empire and subjugated so many states without them. They took two riding horses out, a bay and a gray.

At first, Wufei worried that Dill’a didn’t know how to ride. After all, most of his sisters and aunts had never learnt to, preferring to ride side-saddle as befitting a noblewoman. So Wufei had never met a woman who could ride a horse like a man, and yet look so alluring – long hair streaming behind her, her robes fluttering in the wind.

They rode through the palace hunting grounds; no hunts on today, since the king was out and there was no festival on. In reality the grounds served more like a conservatory for plants and animals; if Wufei paid attention he could hear a rare bird calling in the distance.

Dill’a handled her bay with ease and grace, much more adept in the saddle than even across the weiqi board. Wufei found himself admiring her slim frame, defined shoulders, her strong, almost mannish neck; the way she laughed and tossed her hair as they rode.

“So why did you choose to ride today?” Wufei asked when they stopped to rest the mares.

“It reminds me of home,” Dill’a murmured, pressing her face close to her horse’s mane. The bay horse matched the colour of Dill’a’s hair, the shine of the rich dark browns catching in the light.

“How long have you been away for?” Wufei asked.

“Far too long,” Dill’a said wistfully, stroking the mane of her horse. “I mean, it’s only been a few months. But I don’t know if I can ever go home again.”

Wufei sensed that he shouldn’t press the question. He was comfortable, out of the palace for once – he wondered why he didn’t leave his study more often. It was a sunny day with a good stiff breeze, though the trees blocked most of both, and he didn’t want to ruin the girl’s mood by asking too much.

Instead, they rode a little while more in silence; before the day got too hot and they returned back to the palace.

Barton was waiting by the stables for his prince. 

“You can go if you wish,” Wufei said to Dill’a, when they had handed over the horses to the stablehands. “I have things to attend to.”

“As you command, your Highness,” Dill’a said, then turned with a swish of her skirts and left.

Wufei and Barton walked quietly for a while, before Wufei asked, “What now, Barton? I’m not quite sure how to proceed.”

“You see her again,” Barton said, “And if you are sure, you make a proposal to her family.”

Wufei nodded slowly. “I don’t think I want to see any others, Barton.”

Barton bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “I’ll bring her to you again tomorrow.”

*

“Well?” the girls asked when Dill’a returned to her room. “How’d it go?”

“I think he wants to see me again,” Dill’a said shyly.

A sigh went up in the dormitory. After so many months together, it was inevitable that some of the girls had friendly feelings for each other. But many of them still wished they could become queen.

Dill’a hurried to the showers, where she washed as quickly as possible, scrubbing off the sweat and dirt from the day’s ride.

But quick though it was, it was still long enough for her to anxiously wonder what her next move was. She hadn’t necessarily wanted to catch Wufei’s attention. But the sight of him arrogantly ignoring everything around him had irritated her enough that she had acted impulsively. 

But she couldn’t continue deceiving the king. This house of cards would fall around her, and it could end badly for her. Whispers were already starting to go around that she was remarkably flat-chested. And she never let anybody see her totally naked. Unusual for a woman amongst women, the whispers went; and if she was shy around women, then what about her king?


	3. "And can a lady say no?"

Trowa Barton cast a critical eye over the table before him. There were four items laid out on it - a silk scarf of purest white, a bronze trident, a gold and scarlet shield, and a crown turbaned with silk in the five elemental colours.

Lying among those spectacular items, the crown looked almost plain and forgettable. The Imperial records state that during the last coronation, the silk scarf had shone in the sun, catching the light with its lustrous weave and nearly blinding the spectators. The trident was heavy with danger and burnished to a dull sheen, while the shield was a magnificent thing of lacquer and filigree. 

But Trowa and the Keeper of the Keys knew that the crown was only simple wood. It was a dragon circlet carved from white birch, then covered with silk brocade. It was almost comically light, when the Keeper had carefully carried it out of the safe.

Trowa had paid attention during his training as courtier, of course. He knew what it all stood for. The scarf symbolised the unbesmirchable authority of the King. The trident and shield his commitment to protect his people, and the mandate to go to war if necessary. 

But while the other accoutrements of station were heavy and elaborate, the crown was a reminder that the King did not serve his station, but his people. And so it was so light it could almost float on water. It would almost fly off the head of its wearer if a strong wind blew. Anything, it seemed, could unsettle or even unseat the crown when it was worn. Wufei's grandfather the first King of the Chang'seo dynasty, had ordered it so for his son's coronation as a gift, accompanying it with a couplet on a scroll. 

Trowa had never seen the scroll, since the Second King had kept it in his private study. But Trowa’s father, himself the former king's personal courtier, could recite it, and often had. 

_Easily a proud king turns away  
All you see can be lost in a day_

The Second King had looked at it every day of his reign and taken it to heart. And perhaps that is why he had made the unusual decision to abdicate his throne. Wufei was his fifth child, but only son; the princesses had long been married off to alliances with other powerful nations. He’d trained Wufei from a young age in all the sciences and arts that a king should have – strategy, patience, strength, and compassion.

Still, Trowa didn’t think Wufei was ready. He had a streak of temper that rose to the fore once in a while, but anything he did in his fits of temper were done without malice. But still, that temper gave rise to rash, impulsive actions – like that time when they were 15 and Wufei had gone rogue, disappearing from the palace for a few days. When he returned, he went straight to the king, though court was in session. Few ministers could hide their shock when Wufei reported that he had quelled the pirate problem that had been worrying at their port. 

The king, to his credit, barely blinked. Instead, he thanked his youngest child for solving his problem. 

“But I shall have to punish you,” the king said. “Although what you did was of benefit to the country, you acted without orders. That’s insolence to the crown.”

“So you shall,” Wufei said, still kneeling. “I accept whatever punishment you decide is fit.”

This time, the king couldn’t help but smile. “If you knew you would be punished, why did you do it?”

Wufei sighed. “It was simply easier to do it myself.” 

Even the most outraged minister found it hard to argue against that. Wufei’s martial skill had been well-honed since he was a child, and he was easily one of the best warriors in Chu – if not _the_ best. It was very likely that Wufei’s lone actions had saved the kingdom some bloodshed, and there were men who could go home to their mothers and wives that night.

As punishment, the king had made Wufei copy out the laws of the Chu kingdom – and twice over the chapters pertaining to the actions of a king.

For the king had raised Wufei with the knowledge that he would one day inherit the throne. He’d just thought he had far longer to prepare Wufei for that day. In fact, the elder Barton had once told his son that the king had hoped to abdicate the throne and hand over the reign in an orderly fashion.

“For the stability of the country,” he’d said. “The well-being of the nation was always foremost in his thoughts.”

But a cancer had set in. Its only blessing was that the king had long enough to put his affairs in order and prepare for Wufei’s coronation. But to the bitter end, Wufei had held out hope that his father would recover, and refused to accept the crown while his father was alive.

“Foolishness,” the king had shaken his head as he sat up in bed, frail as he was in his dying days. But since his son was the king-to-be; so be it. He would not undermine the authority of the future king.

And so at 23, Wufei became an orphan, and the would-be king.

Six months; that was the amount of time the palace had to prepare for a coronation after the death of the last. Otherwise, the throne was up for contest if it was empty for more than half a year.

But though Wufei was a powerful warrior, he was not tried in the ways of leadership. Though he had led soldiers in campaign, he didn’t know the minds of peace-loving citizens. And though Wufei meant well and had clear thoughts, his willfulness, reticence, and lone nature did not lend easily to striking up friendships, let alone inspiring loyalty.

As his personal courtier and chamberlain, and in many ways his most trusted friend, Trowa worried that the fight to keep Wufei on the throne would last longer than six months. 

*

Wufei had always slept soundly, trained by the battlefield to catch sleep whenever he could. But tonight Wufei lay awake, still feeling the afternoon sun on his skin. Though his eyes were closed, his heart was still beating with the thrill of the ride, he could hear the clop of horses’ hooves, and see the swing of chestnut hair before him. 

Before long, he opened his eyes and went to his door, cinching his belt tighter around his robe. He gave the guard outside a message. Then he went back to bed and fell asleep, a small smile on his lips.

The next morning, Dill'a was waiting when Wufei entered the dining room, standing by the door. Today her hair hung in a loose bun, and she wore a dress with a short coat.

“Sit,” Wufei said, gesturing at the other side of the table as he himself sat. Dill’a folded herself onto the floor, and looked surprised as the maids began bringing trays in, bustling about as they prepared the table for two.

“Thank you for sharing your meal with me, your Highness,” Dill’a said. “I’m very honoured.” 

"I should like to marry you," Wufei said, buttering his toast evenly as if it were a perfectly normal thing to say over breakfast.

Dill’a couldn’t help it; her jaw dropped, quite inelegantly. “Sorry?”

Wufei looked at her. This was unexpected. In theory a woman would not turn down a prince’s proposal, especially a woman who was hoping to become a consort. 

“You can’t possibly be surprised,” Wufei said, putting his toast down. “Certainly you must have known what position you were interviewing for.”

“But it’s so fast,” Dill’a blurted. “It’s only been three days – we must have spent less than half a day together, all told!”

“Oh – right,” Wufei said stupidly. He couldn’t think of what to say. He really hadn’t thought this would happen. After all, people rarely rejected princes. 

“I need time to think,” Dill’a mumbled. “I’m sorry, your Highness – I beg leave from your presence.” 

Wufei barely nodded his head his leave, and gave a lingering look as Dill’a retreated from the room.

As usual, Trowa was standing outside the door. 

“Your Grace,” Dill’a said quietly as she closed the door behind her. “I have a question of custom. If I'm not mistaken, your Grace serves as his Highness' chamberlain?"

"Yes," Barton answered to the point. "Ask your question."

"When the Crown Prince chooses who he marries, when does he... lie with them?"

Barton could have almost laughed. Trust the hot-headed Chang to rush even into popping the question. "My lady, it would be inappropriate for me to respond."

"I-," Dill'a started to say, then ducked her head as a high colour begn to take over her cheeks. "I should like to prepare."

Barton was fairly sure his poker face remained in place, but he was immediately conscious of a flare of heat in his own gut, that shot up his body to nestle around his collar. 

"By custom, the marriage is consummated on the night of the royal wedding,” he replied as smoothly as he could. “But by practice… a prince can request whatever he likes.”

“And can a lady say no?” Dill’a almost whispered.

Heavens, Trowa realised, the girl was _scared_. 

“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said, “But I imagine the outcome would depend on how the rejection was phrased.”

The high colour did not die down, but Dill’a determinedly held Barton’s gaze. “Thank you, your Grace,” she said, curtseying her leave. 

Barton paused a moment, watching as Dill'a went down the hall. Something was off about this woman, something in the way she walked and carried herself. No ordinary woman went through the world with such bold strides, so self-assured that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

It was almost like she had been born to be queen, mused Barton. The thought brought a smile to his lips. Maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. The coronation would go off without a hitch, the crown prince would get hitched to a woman who could be loved by the masses, and the rightful Chang would be secure on the throne before the year was out.

Barton slid the door open.

"I told her she was my choice, but she said she needed time to think," Wufei muttered, staring into his empty tea cup. "Is there a point to princehood if a woman can reject even the heir to the throne?"

“Wait, she rejected you?” Barton said, confused. 

“She didn’t say no, but she begged leave and fled," Wufei said. He continued, mumbling half to himself, "Perhaps I've been too presumptuous. Perhaps I should woo her. Does one woo a consort?” 

“Perhaps she’s shy,” Barton remarked. “I think you should spend more time with her. You may be a prince, but she is still a woman.”

“This is why women are a pain,” Wufei said, but his eyes were brightening with hope. He picked up his abandoned toast and poured himself more tea as he munched. “Toast?”

Trowa demurred, and stepped back outside. The kitchen staff could eat the unfinished portion – not that there was much of it anyway. 

But as he slid the door close, something was bothering the chamberlain. Dill’a had made it seem like she was nervous about consummation. But if she hadn’t even accepted the crown prince’s proposal, why was she even thinking about consummating the marriage?

Something was almost definitely off about this woman – and perhaps not in the way he’d hoped.


	4. Hometown girls

Hometown girls tended to stick together, aching sometimes for the familiarity of dialect and the chance to talk about the food they missed from home. 

Or, in this case, worrying about the secrets they were carrying. 

"So I have two months to figure this out," Dill'a whispered to the dark-haired girl next to her. They were both wrapped up in outer coats against the breeze. It was past midnight and they were by the outhouse, far away from the women softly snoring indoors.

"What's your plan?" the other girl asked in low tones. "What happens if he finds out? If any of them find out?"

"I don't know, Hilde," Dill'a groaned quietly. "If I knew we wouldn't be out here past bedtime."

"Oh, Duo," Hilde said, for that was Dill'a's real name, "You are always so reckless."

Duo stayed silent. He would have warned Hilde to be careful with which name she used, but frankly it was odd hearing her call him Dill'a. For one thing, she struggled to say it naturally. For another, it still sounded alien even to him. It was nice to be called who he was for once, for someone to know who he really was, living as he had with the stress of constantly fearing being found out.

Duo and Hilde had grown up on the same street in the same town. Hilde had always wanted to leave Franke. It was too far north from the Chu capital such that the kingdom's wealth could barely trickle-down that far out, and also too small and too far inland for it to have its own trade opportunities. But it was practically on the border with Garth, an icy, expansive country that thankfully mostly hibernated and rarely invaded.

Duo and Hilde had grown up in relative comfort, since their families did business across the border. With their parents away a lot, he’d always acted like her brother, protecting her against some of the kids who played rough, but he’d also always been pretty, with his delicate cheekbones and wide, open eyes. They’d even had some fun with that when they were younger, dressing him up so they could both flirt outrageously with the men at the local inn. 

But the Maxwells had fallen on hard times in the past few years, and Duo had stayed home more and more to tend to the business. Hilde saw him rarely – until the palace had come knocking; it was he who had run to tell her.

“I mean, honestly. What did you think would happen?” Hilde said, exasperated by his silence.

"I didn't expect to catch his attention, let alone for him to offer marriage," Duo said, more miserably than the king's favourite had any right to be. "Maybe I should run away from the palace," he continued reluctantly. 

"Are you insane?!” Hilde hissed. “You're the king's favourite. He will almost certainly send a search party after you. And then what?"

"I don't imagine I would survive being discovered," Duo said very quietly. 

Hilde looked at Duo searchingly. “But even if the king hadn’t picked you. What was your plan? I mean, it’s fine for the rest of us. We’ll become handmaids in the palace or marry an aristocrat,” she finally said. “But _you_ can’t possibly live out the rest of your life pretending to be a woman. What were you even thinking, doing this?”

“I thought it would be easier, okay?” Duo groaned, putting his face in his hands. “I didn’t expect there to be an entire Consort Training Programme and a system and everything. I thought there’d be so many girls, I’d just sneak away. Blend in as a servant boy or some minor visiting noble. Or leave the palace and figure the city out.”

“But _why_ did you even come all this way? To the capital? To Tianxia Palace?” Hilde pressed.

Duo was very quiet for a while, until Hilde shook his shoulder gently. “Did you fall asleep?”

Duo looked up. He looked very tired. “Did you know the palace was offering money for girls to come?”

Hilde shrugged. “I knew, but it didn’t matter to me.”

“Eight taels of silver,” Duo said, looking away. “Just enough for my mother’s medical costs for a year.”

It was good Duo had looked away, because Hilde didn’t trust her face when she heard that. It was a lot to take in. For the Maxwells to be desperate for just eight taels of silver...

“I didn’t know she was ill,” she finally said, and immediately felt silly saying it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Duo shrugged. “What could you have done? What could anyone have done? I tended to her for years and at the end of it, we just needed the money. Would your family have lent it to us? What if we couldn’t pay it back?”

 _We would have gladly given it to you_ , Hilde wanted to say, but it died even before it reached her lips. Duo was right. No family in Franke would get involved with an unrelated family’s affairs, because it was too complicated. Too much debt that was impossible to repay. Too many generations of awkwardness. It was just not their way. Best to simply keep one’s own house in order, and hope for the best.

“I could have married you and forced my father to help,” Hilde joked weakly, before sighing. “I’m sorry I never knew, Duo.”

“Too late for that now,” Duo tried smiling back at Hilde, but fell just short. His face was pale under the moonlight. “I’m here and the future king wants to marry me. I guess I just have to find a way to make him like me less.”


	5. A little glow in his heart

In hindsight, Wufei reflected, perhaps he’d been trying to pick a wife like he picked clothes. Casting an eye over the available selection, zooming in on a few likely articles, then picking the one that caught his eye best, and acquiring it. And women were not things, much less articles of clothing.

Wufei mulled over this thought as he carefully selected what he would wear today. Eventually he picked a linen robe, pure white except for the crane taking flight from the hem. In Chu culture, cranes were lucky. They symbolised longevity, and two cranes in flight together were thought to be a good omen for love. It wouldn’t even matter if Dill’a didn’t understand the symbolism; he just wanted it to bring him some luck today.

After breakfast, Duo came to his study again. 

"I thought we could try to get to know each other," Wufei said, rising from his seat. He proffered his arm, and Duo took it with just the slightest hesitation. "Why don't we take a walk today?"

The palace gardens were between the prince's private chambers and the main building proper, so they were just a short walk away. Duo had never seen them, much less walked in them, tucked away as he was in the corner of the palace grounds and heavily guarded as prospects of the prince.

"You look very nice," Wufei said. 

Duo laughed. "I always look nice, your Highness." 

He was hoping to irritate the prince into disliking him, by being so unladylike that Wufei would realise that this was not the wife he was looking for. It wasn't a very good plan, he knew, but his only other real option was running away, and that might have consequences he might not be prepared for. He already had no money, which took away his ability to bribe anyone into transporting him out of the palace, or to buy any food or rent any housing once he was in the city. No; better to try to fall out of the prince's favour and disappear into the male household staff once he was no longer in the running as consort.

He was slightly surprised when Wufei laughed in return. "No, seriously. Where did you get that dress from?"

Duo looked down at it. Today he had chosen one of the drabbest, plainest dresses he’d taken – a brown bag of a dress, with a large collar and a similarly large rosette in the corner. He frankly thought it was hideous on him, but it wasn’t as if he’d had plenty of choices in dresses when he’d left home. He’d just taken whatever he hoped his mother wouldn’t miss.

“I come from a family of textile merchants,” he finally said, as an attempt to deflect the question. “That’s very beautiful linen you’ve got on.”

Wufei felt a little glow in his heart for his morning decision, but almost immediately it also made him feel a little ridiculous inside.

“It’s one of my favourites,” he said. “Tell me about yourself, Dill’a. Which part of Chu are you from?”

Duo bristled slightly hearing that. Frankly, Franke was less Chu and more Garth – far as it was from the main commercial and administrative cities in the south. Its people had very different colouring from the Chu, with lighter, earthier colours in their hair, and eyes in vibrant jewel tones. And culturally, their customs, manners and art also suffered slight differences. 

But politically, Franke was part of the kingdom, after Wufei’s grandfather had brought it under Chu control. It just rankled to hear it.

“I’m from Franke,” Duo muttered. 

Dill’a was like a puzzle to solve, Wufei reflected. And today she seemed rather unhappy about something. He’d noticed the recoil she’d made when he’d asked where she was from. These states might think they weren’t part of Chu, but a kingdom is a kingdom, a singular entity no matter the origin of its parts.

“You’re very cold towards me today,” Wufei remarked. “Are you alright?”

“Sorry, I’m feeling unwell,” Duo said, rather glad for the excuse to be silent and sullen. Then, to his surprise, Wufei stopped and began removing his robe.

“What are you doing?” Duo asked, and his voice nearly cracked from astonishment as the prince stood before him in just his inner robes of plain white cotton. 

“Here,” Wufei said briefly, and with a flick, covered Duo with his own robe. 

Duo flushed almost immediately. It was such a terribly unexpected move that he didn’t know what to say. But he couldn’t be churlish in the face of such surprising kindness, so he said, “Thank you,” and continued walking. 

Before long, Duo noticed that the crown prince was walking awfully close to him. It made him feel – he guessed the emotion must be discomfort. He could distinctly feel the heat coming off Wufei’s arm, the warm gaze in his dark brown eyes. He seemed very relaxed and at ease – almost happy. Even his hair, pulled back into a loose short ponytail, was beginning to escape the white hair ribbon and fall around his face, softening the hard edges of his cheeks. 

Duo drew the robe closer around him, and hated that he was relying on it for a sense of security.

Presently, Wufei stopped them under a tree by the little man-made lake. “This is one of my favourite spots in the garden,” he said. “Look into the lake; you can see the koi.”

Duo looked. The fish were very big, and seemed very content. Their orange and black colours mottled the clear green water, and he had an urge to paint them across a canvas. 

Then, after a few quiet moments, Wufei picked up one of Duo’s hands and held it, and lifted the other to caress his cheek. The prince’s hand was so careful, and surprisingly gentle, as he brushed Duo’s hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear. Then he leaned his face in close.

 _Oh no_ , Duo was yelling in his mind. _Don’t let him kiss you!_

To Wufei’s surprise, Dill'a was pulling away. "Your Highness!" 

“May I not kiss you?” Wufei whispered.

“N-no!” Duo said, unable to think of a better or more graceful answer. 

Wufei let go immediately and took a step away. He hadn’t expect such revulsion and horror. His face betrayed his emotions as it flitted from embarrassment, to shame, and finally settling on anger. 

“I’m very disappointed, Dill’a,” Wufei said, trying very hard to control his temper. “I understand you barely know me, but I don’t think you’re giving me a fair chance at winning you over at all.”

Duo froze under the flint-hard gaze. Even as far north as Franke, they’d heard about Chang Wufei’s martial exploits when he was a younger prince. Duo felt like he was getting a glimpse of the legendary Black Dragon that lurked beneath that regal exterior, the one that stamped out uprisings by himself and led the campaign against Tashkar.

“If I disgust you that much, then don’t waste my time,” Wufei continued. “Far be it my consort should be offended by me.”

Wufei spun on his heel and left. He wouldn’t hear another word from Dill’a. He was bitterly angry, his thoughts so clouded that he didn’t even care that his robe was still with her. It was a mistake to have been so vulnerable with this woman. It had been a mistake searching for a consort at all. This could wait, he thought darkly as he flung open the door of his study, until after the ascension – or never at all.

*

Duo walked very slowly back to the girls’ quarters, feeling immensely guilty for what’d happened by the pond. He’d succeeded in making Wufei hate him, he supposed. So he should be happy, right? But to his greatest shame, he remembered most the feeling he had when Wufei had put the robe on his shoulders against an imaginary chill, and then the feeling of Wufei’s hand on his cheek, the electric shudder that had run through his body when Wufei had brushed his hair back. 

So absorbed with the struggle with these thoughts, that he nearly bumped into Chamberlain Barton outside the girls’ quarters.

“Your Grace,” Duo hastily curtseyed.

“Dill’a,” Barton nodded in return. “Please follow me.”

Barton led Duo to a small room in the quarters. There were two guards outdoors and a handmaid inside. Duo was slightly confused. Had word travelled so quickly? Was the prince getting rid of him already? Was this his exit interview?

Barton shut the door behind them, and locked it. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to request,” he said, “but the lady in the corner is here to ensure your modesty.”

What was happening? Barton was moving to stand a good three metres away from Duo, and folded his arms across his chest.

“I’ve talked to some of the girls, and they say they have never seen you wholly naked,” Barton said. “Why’s that so?”

“I’m not the most good-looking one here, you know,” Duo tried to wisecrack. “I’m shy about my body.”

Barton shook his head. “I have a theory that can only be verified one way. Please remove your clothing for me.”

So the jig was to be up so quickly. Desperately, Duo made a lunge for the door, but with a sharp order from Barton, the door slid open and the guards quickly threw him to the floor.

“I’m sorry, Dill’a, or whatever your name is,” Barton said, shaking his head, “but lying to the Crown is a criminal offence.” He nodded at the guards. “Take him away.”


	6. Sick in his heart

Wufei threw himself into his work. There was lots to do, not just for the coronation but beyond - studying the laws and maps, taking visits out into the capital city to walk with the people, planning his first tour of the country as King. These days he went from dining hall to study more often than not, staying late until the candles burned low before retiring to bed.  
   
There was beginning to be a semi-permanent pain in Wufei’s forehead that was there when he went to bed and still there when he awoke. And truth be told, Wufei wasn’t sleeping well. He was biting down hard in his sleep, and he was having recurring dreams of being lost in a large palace with very high ceilings. Some nights he sat up abruptly in bed and found it hard to go back to sleep.  
   
Trowa had expected the prince to ask him about Dill'a's sudden disappearance, and he had steeled himself up to answer. But the question never came, and the Chang prince had been in such a foul mood since that day that Trowa never brought it up.  
   
Something must have happened between the prince and Dill'a that fateful day, Trowa reflected. Otherwise the crown prince would certainly have asked for his favourite soon after. With relief, he thought it was perhaps it was for the best that he never had to explain that the crown prince’s favourite was actually a man.  
   
But what troubled Trowa more was that Wufei refused to see any more of the consort candidates. With just a month to go to the ascension, and not a consort in sight, Trowa worried for how the people would view their king during his tour of Chu.  
   
"I don't want to," Wufei grouched every time Trowa brought it up. "Women are a waste of time." Then he would send him away on some minute errand or other, clearly not keen to talk about it.  
   
One day after breakfast, Trowa said, "I’ve made special arrangements for dinner, your Highness. Some of your guests for the coronation have arrived, so I took the liberty to arrange for you to host a welcome meal."  
   
Wufei grunted his acquiescence, already halfway out the room. "As long as I don’t have to go to too many of these.”  
   
Trowa inclined his head. “I’ll do my best to keep them compact.”  
   
*  
   
For the first time in a month, Wufei left his study early to have a proper bath and be dressed for the dinner. He slowly eased himself into the gently steaming water and leaned back against the side of the wooden bath.  
   
He rarely allowed himself these luxuries, preferring to live a much simpler – one might say even severe - life, but sometimes the event called for the benefits of his station. And for tonight, he needed to put everything aside - stop being a mere mortal and be kingly. He stared down at his hands. When had they become so stained with brush ink?  
   
He reflected on his life to come - work, politics, administration, travel, diplomacy. For the rest of his time as king he would be thoroughly occupied with affairs of state. If he had no heir then he could very well be king for the rest of his life. And that could be a very long time. 

And who were his friends? Who could he trust? No parents to guide him, and his sisters all married, and who knew where their loyalties lay. Only the faithful Barton family and their retainers. Perhaps his comrades during the Tashkar campaign - but that had been years ago.  
   
There was beginning to be a dull ache in his chest to match the one in his forehead. Wufei took a deep breath, but choked in steam. His vision watered and started to swim.

He was all alone, wasn't he? No allies to speak of, no consort, no heir. And no time to cultivate any of these. Wufei groaned and put his head in his hands, ignoring the way the water dripped into his eyes and stung. Since his father had gotten ill he had a nagging feeling that he was short on time. And insofar as Barton tried to arrange for these on his behalf, all these things took - time. And he hated the idea of doing anything simply for the sake of it.

He grabbed the ash-soap and scrubbed furiously at his hands until the ink stains disappeared. Then he clambered out of the bath, sick in his heart with hating himself.

*

Barton had chosen a discreet room for the dinner - not the grandest hall they had, but tastefully appointed. It was where the previous king had loved to entertain his closest allies, and with its dark walnut panelling and deep cushions, erred on the side of coziness rather than formality. Perfect for a stressed-out prince, and for guests who had travelled a long way, Wufei noted as he stood by the door waiting for his guests. He wondered, not for the first time, and as his chamberlain stood silently behind him, just how perceptive Barton was.  
   
"His Royal Highness Milliardo Peacecraft, Royal Ambassador of Sanc Kingdom,” the herald announced. “And his sister, Her Royal Highness Relena Peacecraft.”

A pair of blondes entered, the prince's hair closer to platinum, while the princess' was more like honey. She was wearing a lovely lilac dress, and had her hand on her brother's arm, while he was dressed in a pressed white suit and came forward with a smile.   
   
“Thank you for coming all this way,” Wufei said, with a polite smile. “It is a very long way from Sanc.”  
   
The siblings half-bowed their regards. “Chu and Sanc have a valuable relationship we treasure," Milliardo said. "We wouldn’t miss your impending coronation, which I’m sure will be very majestic."  
   
“Not as majestic as I hear your country is,” Wufei replied. “I must find the time to visit.”  
   
“We’ll certainly invite you,” Milliardo promised.  
   
"The envoy from Tashkar,” the herald’s voice broke in with the next arrival. “His Grace, Mr Quatre Raberba Winner.”

Wufei turned away from the siblings as they strode into the room. Tashkar. The state he had subdued. He schooled his face into an easy smile.

The envoy walked alone, head high, wearing a black vest heavy with gold Tashkarian embroidery - deliberately so, Wufei thought. The envoy's very presence in Tianxia Palace demonstrated the state's submission to Chu rule, but his dress indicated pride in their culture and heritage - who they had been before the Chu. 

Wufei could work with that.  
   
“Thank you for inviting us to your coronation,” Quatre said, his voice light but strong. "We are honoured to be here."

"Your presence means a lot to me," Wufei said, and left it at that. And if he detected the faintest hint of a smile on the Tashkarian's delicate face, he didn’t let on.

A few more guests arrived, and then Barton indicated for the doors to be closed. Wufei went to the head of the table and indicated to his ministers and guests that they should all be seated. 

"I appreciate the long trips you have made to be here today, and we are honoured to host you at Tianxia Palace for as long as you'd like to stay," he said. "We will have plenty of time while you are our guests to speak of official business, but I hope this evening will be one of friendship and cheer. To friends!"

Chu and guest alike raised their glasses, and the meal commenced. 

Quatre smiled from toast to dinner. He politely ate his fish, an animal he wasn’t used to in his sandy, rocky land; he found it bland yet curiously oily – much like Chu, if he wanted to put a fine point on things. He was seated next to the Culture Minister, but he noticed the Sanc siblings were next to the Trade Minister. Perhaps that was the role Tashkar was to have for Chu – just an exotic jewel in its crown to show off, but ultimately a minority population to keep subjugated.

It had taken three years after the surrender to the Chu to rebuild Tashkar again. In that time, it had turned into little more than a service city for the Chu military outpost constantly stationed just beyond the borders – a reminder that they had lost. Tashkarians were a proud folk, and had always been. It pained Quatre to see his people crushed, their spirits dampened. All he had to do was find out what Tianxia Palace needed, make the Chang see that Tashkar could provide it, and use that as leverage to fight for autonomy. Then his people could hold their head high. And they would not have to suffer again.

He smiled, and endured the Culture Minister - who was currently insistently pressing a point Quatre had no interest in entertaining. 

“But I hear you have these women who dance provocatively,” the white-haired minister was saying. “Do you own any?”

“Nobody owns them,” Quatre said, trying to smile. “They perform for a fee.”

“A fee,” the minister was beginning to leer lasciviously. But before he could continue, a voice broke into their conversation.

“Mr Winner, those dancers are highly trained artists, aren’t they?” 

It was the princess Relena, who was sitting directly across from Quatre. He noticed that her smile directed at the Culture Minister didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yes, they are, your Highness,” Quatre said, inclining his head toward her. “I’m flattered that your Highness knows something of Tashkar.”

“Certainly. It’s a beautiful place. And I’m sure the honourable Minister would agree,” she added, smiling and nodding at the Culture Minister, who took that as a reason to start telling her about all the places he’d been.

Artfully done. She had rescued him from anger, while flattering the minister. He admired the craft of diplomacy when wielded at its best. He inclined his head slightly at the princess in thanks, who smiled warmly at him, this time all the way to her eyes.

*

“That Trade Minister was such a bore,” Milliardo yawned, after the door to their rooms was safely closed behind he and Relena. "I tried so hard to keep conversation light - so light that I'm beginning to feel positively _dizzy_."

“Still, he’s important to us,” Relena reminded him. "Stop being such a drama queen."

“I know, I know,” her brother waved her off. “Stop it, you’re starting to sound like Father. And what about you? I saw you talking to the Tashkar envoy. What was that about?”

“The Chu Culture Minister was being quite rude to him, so I stepped in before a diplomatic meltdown happened at the table,” Relena said, peeling her gloves off. “He looked like he wasn’t enjoying the fish either.”

Sometimes Milliardo thought his sister would make a far better ambassador than he would. But their father had already decided on their roles, and that was not what she was in Tianxia Palace for.

“I admire your work for peace at the dinner table, but how about the Chang prince? Did you get a good sense of him?” Milliardo asked.

Relena paused, sitting on the edge of her brother’s bed. “I suppose he’s quite handsome,” she finally said. “But he’s quite inscrutable. He actually spent most of the meal in silence.”

“You need to consider if you would marry him,” Milliardo gently reminded her.

“I know,” the princess said quietly. “And it would help our people if I did. Oh, big brother. You’re starting to sound like Father, too.”


	7. A breath's worth of stillness

Relena Peacecraft sat by the mirror getting her hair brushed. She was thinking about the crown prince. It was a perfect match on paper, she admitted - the princess of one of the oldest kingdoms, marrying the heir to a vast empire. With Chang'seo resources and Peacecraft opulence, their wedding would be fairy-tale perfect.

But what about their marriage? Relena couldn't imagine life with such an austere person. Chang Wufei had barely said ten sentences after giving his welcome speech. Had he simply been preoccupied? Or was this her preview to their hypothetical life together, her warning to get out while she could?

She was conflicted. As a princess she'd had very limited experience with love and men. Whatever aspirations she had were formed by what she thought about her father and brother. And while she thought they were wonderful people, she wasn’t sure that she really wanted to marry someone who was essentially her father… or her brother.

She sighed. 

“Why the deep sigh, my lady?” Her lady-in-waiting said, as she continued brushing Relena’s hair.

“I’m so confused,” Relena admitted. 

“The crown prince?” 

Relena sighed again. “I don’t know if I want to marry him.”

“Isn’t it a little too early to tell?” The maid asked. “You’ve only been here a few weeks. How many dinners have you had together, even?”

“Just the one,” the princess admitted. “But I find myself more confused about my own feelings. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

Her lady-in-waiting hummed sympathetically, but didn’t say more.

“Have you ever been in love, Lucrezia?” Relena asked.

The brushing slowed down slightly, and Relena looked up in the mirror. The older woman had a pensive look on her face.

“I’ve loved, but I can’t say I’ve ever been _in_ love,” Lucrezia eventually said. “I don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes you know right away, and sometimes you don’t. But it’s a feeling that only grows with time. And when it feels right, you’ll know.” 

“And how will I know if it feels wrong? How do I tell?” Relena asked, in a surge of honest feeling.

Lucrezia’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “If it happens and you can’t tell, you’ll only make the same mistake that generations of women have made, your Highness,” she said. “The good news is, you’ll probably be in good company.”

Relena noticed that Lucrezia carefully kept her eyes on her mistress’ brown hair as she spoke – as if there were something she was trying to keep secret. But before Relena could ask her about it, Lucrezia said, “Regardless, you do need to interact more with Prince Wufei before you decide.”

Relena dropped her eyes to look at her hands in her lap. “That would probably be best,” she conceded. It would only be fair to her – and him. 

*

Tianxia Palace’s corridors were not so wide, its ceilings not so high that Trowa Barton didn’t notice that there was someone following him on the way from the Outer Palace to his chambers. 

“If you’re going to follow me, you might as well walk beside me instead of skulking around in the shadows,” he called out. 

There was a breath’s worth of stillness in the air, before Trowa heard the stalker chortle quietly. 

“So the stories are true,” Trowa heard the stalker say, before the Tashkarian envoy melted from behind a pillar. “Prince Chang’s chamberlain is not to be underestimated as well. You have a very unassuming way about you.”

“If you were here to challenge my martial ability, you’ve just lost any advantage you could have had,” Trowa quirked a smile at the tow-headed man. 

“I’m not here to fight,” Quatre replied, eyes wide, putting both hands up to show he was no threat as he drew up beside Trowa. He slanted a wink at the taller man. “I _will_ take you up on that offer to walk by your side, though.” 

Was Winner flirting with him…? Trowa slid easily into his default poker face and continued his way down the corridor, arms crossed. He supposed it wasn’t anything he needed to care about. The envoy could do whatever he wanted; he didn’t have to respond.

“I really am not here to fight,” Quatre smiled as he fell into step beside Trowa. “I think those of us on the same side should not quarrel. Instead, I was wondering if you could help me.” He paused.

Trowa grunted noncommittally for Quatre to continue.

“I should like to make the case for Tashkar to Crown Prince Wufei,” Quatre declared. “Would you be able to arrange for us to speak?”

An interesting proposal, at least. “Why would I help you?” Trowa asked blandly. 

“Because you’re close to the Prince,” Quatre said in a low whisper, and Trowa suddenly realised that the envoy had come so close that their arms were nearly brushing, “And you know how much he needs Tashkar to be _his_.”

It felt like Winner had said the last word directly in his ear; that’s how heavily it reverberated in Trowa’s mind. But just as quickly as he had come near, Quatre drew away just as swiftly to walk normally next to Trowa. 

These strange Tashkarian customs, Trowa thought. He’d heard so much about how they did things differently in those Western regions, but experiencing this invasion of personal space for himself was still tremendously alien and out of the blue.

“Thank you for your proposal, Mr Winner,” Trowa said formally. “I’ll certainly consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Quatre said, all smiles and music again. “Well, have a good day, Mr Barton. I’ll be in my rooms if you need me.”

Quatre turned back the way they had come, walking back to the Outer Palace to his rooms. Trowa paused for a while to watch him go, telling himself it was to make sure his stalker wasn’t going to try to follow him again. 

Nobody had stood so close – nobody had come so close to Trowa – in a long time. It had raised dormant instincts from the days when he had fought more regularly. He’d almost thought he’d kill Winner for invading his personal space. But the smaller man had come, applied just the right amount of pressure, and stepped away. No one had ever been able to get past Trowa’s defences like that.

This Tashkarian was dangerous, Trowa reflected as he continued on his way. Possibly just as dangerous as he was.

 

*

Lucrezia knocked on Milliardo’s door, heart thumping in her chest. At his call of, “Come in!” she opened the door and went in. 

Prince Milliardo was lounging in an armchair, dressed in a cardinal red blazer, white slacks, dark brown boots up to his thighs.

“Your Highness,” Lucrezia curtseyed, carefully keeping her eyes on the floor. She was just a lady in waiting, and he was the heir presumptive to Sanc Kingdom’s throne. She didn’t deserve to look her future king in the eye; this shining specimen of a man would blind her.

“Noin,” Milliardo acknowledged, and the way his voice caressed her name warmly sent a cold, hard shiver down her spine.

“The princess wishes to be formally introduced to the Chang’seo prince for his consideration,” Lucrezia said to the floor. “She sent me to tell you.”

“Hmmm,” Milliardo said, pensively. “I don’t think it would look right for the ambassador to make the request. What do you think, Noin?”

Lucrezia hesitated, wondering if he really wanted her opinion.

“You can look at me, you know,” Milliardo said gently. “I don’t bite.”

She lifted her gaze slightly to peer at the toecaps of his boots through her bangs.

The prince sighed. “Yes, I don’t think it’d be right for someone in my position to make such an indelicate request,” Milliardo mused. “You’re right, Noin. Would you do it instead?”

He got up from his seat and strode across the room, laying a hand briefly on her shoulder as he exited. 

“I know I can count on you, Noin.”

She trembled as she curtseyed – and she could still feel his touch burning on her skin even through her clothes; even after he had left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter, so it's a bit of a filler one.


	8. Prisoners bribing jailors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo's in Tianxia jail, but it's not quite what it seems to be. Before long, he's moving on to a new part of his life.

The first few days in Tianxia Palace's prison were enough to drive Duo out of his mind. It was the utter boredom. One week in he'd paced every inch of the floor and could tell you how many cracks there were in each flagstone. The only person he ever got to see and talk to was the guard who brought him his meals.

"Thanks, Bob," Duo had started saying on the second day, after noticing that the man took the day shift. 'Bob' tried his best to maintain a poker face and avoid consorting with a prisoner, but by the end of the week he cracked. 

"Heya, Bob, what's on the menu today?" Duo called in a sing-song tone. He didn't quite care if any of the other prisoners heard him. Besides, what could they do when they were all behind bars?

"Name's Howard, kiddo," the guard said, smiling as he slid the tray under the bars. "Same thing as always - nutritious, tasty slop. Eat up."

"Aw man, thanks!" Duo pulled the tray toward him and began to eat slowly. These days with the lack of exercise and activity, he found he didn't have much of an appetite. And a thought was beginning to form in his mind.

When Howard swung round again to pick up the slop trays, Duo said in a low voice, "Hey, Howard. Do you think you could help me get some chalk? Charcoal? I'm going crazy in here and I just want to do something."

Howard hesitated, smile freezing on his face. Duo whispered, "Even a tiny stub would do..."

Howard drew back from the bars, eyes assessing Duo for a long moment. Then he reached down and took Duo's tray without a word. 

The next day, Howard seemed to be pretending that Duo hadn't said anything unusual, but at least he was bantering with him again, to Duo's relief. He'd take someone to talk to over stilling his fidgety hands, if it came down to it. But nothing ever came and Duo didn't dare ask again. He resigned himself to dying from boredom.

Until one day, there was a piece of chalk on his tray. Just a small one, the kind that was the very end of a whole stick of chalk. Duo immediately recognised its pyramidal shape, strangely round from being worn down, from when he was a kid studying with slate and chalk. He looked up in gratitude and smiled at Howard, who smiled back silently before walking on.

Duo began to draw in his cell. With these tiny pieces of chalk, he'd sketch pictures of things from outside, pressing lightly to make them last longer. Initially he sketched bowls of noodles and dumplings but quickly realised those were rather torturous. Then, out of force of habit, he went over the clothes-drafting exercises he'd learnt as a child. Sleeve. Bodice. Circle skirt. Trousers. Tunic. Robes. Before the week was up, he was on his third nub of chalk and was designing dresses for the consort candidate girls, just for fun, imagining the different types of fabrics they'd like and the colours that would look good on them, jotting these down as notes by the design.  
   
At first he drew in the shadows of his cell, but as he ran out of space and didn't have anything to wash the chalk away, his drafts drifted up onto the walls. Until the day Howard glanced up into Duo's cell and froze, still crouched to push the tray under Duo's door. 

 _Oh man_ , Duo thought. _I'm in trouble this time._

Then Howard picked his jaw off the floor and said, "Dude, Maxwell. These are amazing. Can you actually sew these?"

Duo shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I'm much better at designing though. I learnt the basics of sewing but we always had people to do the finishings. _Those_ are hard."

Howard's eyes lit up. "Can you design one for my wife?" he asked with hushed excitement. "What do you need? I'll... pay you." His voice dropped even further.

Duo was taken aback but recovered with his typical humour. "I thought usually it's prisoners bribing jailors," he joked.

Howard rolled his eyes. "This is how we know you're not really Chu. Prison's heavy on state taxes. Prisoners need to carry their own weight. Hell, rich criminals pay enough money to basically just live at home under heavy guard." He snorted. "Imprisoned, but still waited on hand and foot by their servants, and fucking their wives."

"What," Duo sputtered, "You're telling me I could have been out of here this whole time?! Doing something with my life?!"

Howard burst out laughing. "No, you brat! Part of my job is figuring out what you'd be good for first!"

Duo ate very well that day, and even tasted his food enough to realise that the slop was actually nourished with stock and salt. The next day Howard brought fabric, paper, graphite, measure and measurements, and a tailor's apprentice who patiently squatted outside the cell with a pair of sewing scissors.

"Sorry, can't let you handle anything sharp while you're in there," Howard said apologetically while he passed the items in through the bars. "She'll cut your paper patterns and pass them back to you for your cloth draft."

Duo leapt to work, as Howard left them alone, delighted to have something to bend his energy to.

"What's your name, sir?" The girl suddenly asked.

"Duo Maxwell," he muttered, turning to flash her a quick smile before turning back to his design sketch. Howard's wife was fond of a garishly loud print in strikingly contrasting colours, it seemed, because this one had trees against a coral pink background. He had to think carefully about making sure the seams didn't slice clumsily through the pattern. 

"I'm Catherine," she suddenly announced. "It's nice to meet you, Mr Maxwell."

"Oh god, please just call me Duo," he groaned. "I'm not that old."

It turned out Catherine was older than Duo, actually - Duo was just a bit too thin for his own good. Catherine clapped and cheered when Duo held up the finished design with a flourish, and they spent the afternoon chatting amicably while passing the drafts back and forth through the bars. 

It was a good day, Duo thought happily at the end of it, after Howard had come to collect and Catherine had waved goodbye. He felt like himself again.

A few days later, Howard came to let him out. “My wife’s so happy. The dress is perfect!” he gushed as he opened the gate wide, “And you’re perfect for the palace dressmakers. You’re hired!” 

“Aren’t you going to shackle me?” Duo asked, confused. 

Howard blinked. “We’re going to give you a job and pay you,” he said slowly, as if talking to a fool. “If you run away, we’d just arrest you again, and then it’d be _city_ jail for you. And trust me, kid, the wardens in city jail are not like me.” 

Duo nodded dumbly. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The world was topsy-turvy, he concluded, but at least he seemed to be right side up. To his surprise, Howard thrust a small bundle of belongings at him, and he realised they were the clothes he’d had on when he was arrested.

Duo flushed crimson as he peeked into the bundle. It was his mother’s brown dress with the rosette in the corner. He felt awful looking at it, feeling the squirm of shame remembering Dill’a, the terrible ache of missing his family and home, and the resolution that he was not getting back into that dress.

“I can’t wear this,” Duo cringed, and Howard guffawed. 

“I _wish_ you would,” Howard said with amusement. Then he softened, looking at the look of discomfort on Duo’s face. “Aw, come on, kiddo. We’ll get you something else.”

In the end the tailoring department had a spare tunic and pants. Duo climbed thankfully into them, then slid behind the workbench that the workshop master assigned him. Catherine waved from across the room. 

The workshop master was a short, grumpy man with a long nose and hair mushrooming out from either side of his head. 

“You’ll call me Professor G,” he harrumphed, throwing a piece of fabric at Duo. “Let’s see what you can do with this.”

Duo worked quickly, making a rough sketch of what he would do with the shimmery fabric. Professor G seemed suitably impressed, raising an eyebrow and grunting in approval. Then he reassigned Duo to a bench working on a lustrous deep yellow cloth. 

It felt good to be productive again, and it felt better that it was something his hands intuitively knew – drafting, cutting, turning, pinning. Duo rode the high all the way till the end of the day, when he walked back with his co-workers to the male workers’ dormitory. 

He dumped the bundle onto his assigned bed, and the brown dress slid off the bare mattress and onto the floor. As he picked it up, he realised that there was something else in the bundle. 

The white coat he’d forgotten. The one Wufei had put around his shoulders, the one with the rising crane. Duo stared at it for a good long time, then instinctively, brought it to his nose and sniffed deep. Even after the past few weeks crumpled at the bottom of god-knows-what pile in god-knows-what store room, it still had the gentle fragrance of the Crown Prince’s pine wardrobe pressed into every crease.

Duo sniffed again, then realised he was smiling. He quickly put the coat down on the bed before anyone saw him; but on second thoughts, folded it swiftly into a neat square and tucked it under his pillow.


End file.
